A Martyr's Choice
by MorganBonny
Summary: Elizabeth has made a wedding promise, but there's nothing she wants more than to break it...at first anyways.Should she do what's right and fall in love with James?Or will her heart follow the pirate blacksmith that so deftly stole it away? Canon CotBP
1. Chapter 1 Storm

A Martyr's Choice

Fanfiction: Pirates of the Caribbean: CotBP

Characters: Elizabeth, Norrington, Jack, Will, Governor Swann, Gillette and Estrella

Rating: K+ for minor swearing

Disclaimer: Me steal the PotC plot and characters? Actually- *smack* Borrowed! Borrowed without permission. But with every intention of bringing them back to you (except James. He's mine.) All credit to the big-eared mouse.

Elizabeth has made a wedding promise, but there's nothing she wants more than to break it...at first anyways. Should she do what's right and fall in love with James? Or will her heart follow the pirate blacksmith that so deftly stole it away? Elizabeth has a choice to make – a martyr's choice.

_A/N: I am well aware that 'The Lady or the Tiger' was not written until the 1800's, but it's such a powerful story and fits so well, that we're going to ignore this fact. Again, all credit for the idea of said story to the author, Frank Stockton, and my respectful request that you read it._

_A/N: A bottle of Rum and passage on The Dauntless go to Damsel-in-stress for her excellent beta. Thanks, matey!_

_~^///^~_

_We left the music behind and the dance carried on, as we stole away to the seashore.  
We smelt the brine, felt the wind in our hair and with sadness you paused.  
Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go, your world was not mine, your eyes told me so._

_Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time and I wondered why. _

_Turning to go, I heard you call out my name like a bird in a cage spreading its' wings to fly._

"_The old ways are lost," you sang as you flew, and I wondered why._

~Loreena McKennitt, _The Old Ways_

_~^///^~_

The sky was hell bent on showcasing Elizabeth's emotions, and she couldn't say she really blamed it. Honestly, the way she felt, she was surprised it wasn't raining. Yet.

The chill wind felt good though against her fevered skin, her pale strands of hair twisting against her cheeks. Ever since she'd made that choice, those two simple words, she'd burned with fever, her skin boiling to the touch, sweat forever casting a slick sheen across her body.

_I am._ Funny, how damning those two words could be. _I am_,a simple response to a complicated question she had hoped to never have to answer.

She supposed it could have been worse. Will was alive, she was alive, and they were home. But there the good things ended. The love that beat furiously with every breath she took in his presence was slated to die and there was nothing she could do about it. Will would go back to whatever path he chose and she would belong to James Norrington.

But it could have been worse.

The whole plan that had ended in the words 'I am' might have been created, voiced and confirmed in the space of a minute, but it was anything but hasty. The instant the idea had appeared like a killer salvation in her brain, she had rebelled from it, searching for some alternative, but a moment later it had spilled from her lips and there had been no way to recall it.

A wedding gift...? She couldn't think of a worse wedding gift. But if Will lived, it was worth it. Anything was worth his life.

It had surprised them, she saw that, and before the Commodore concealed his emotions again, she saw the sudden hope and joy flash across his features.

"Elizabeth! Are you accepting the Commodore's proposal?"

Everything in her had wanted to make her scream, 'No!', but she merely lifted her head and confirmed it with two simple words.

"I am."

And now she had to stick to that, with her whole heart, for the rest of her life. It might have been a split-second decision, but she had known from the instant that it crossed her lips that this was a promise she could not break. She knew exactly what she was doing and she was prepared to follow it through with every ounce of her soul. She just had to do a little dying first.

_~^///^~_

In a window overlooking the sea, James Norrington stood watching her. It hurt to see her slumped that way, delicate and fragile looking in her pale green dress, the salt breeze whipping her hair. He wanted to go down and drape something around her shoulders, keep the chill from her perfect features, take her in his arms, but he didn't know how, and he didn't know what was wrong.

Such a desperate move, impulsive. The implications had not missed him. He had never wanted her acceptance to come in such a way, in front of Sparrow, as a madcap last ditch attempt to save the blacksmith Will Turner. She had said it wasn't a condition, but a request. She'd told him his answer would not change hers. And as much as he longed for this to be true, he held the horribly final truth that Elizabeth did not love him in his mouth like a bitter poison, afraid to swallow.

She had played her acceptance as a trump card, knowing he could not refuse, and as bold, as rash as that was, it was also frightening. To be so desperate so as to throw that after him, to shout it at him...It had the look of a martyring.

It was possible that she would have said 'yes' anyway. He held that thought tightly, praying it was true. It was possible that she merely voiced it to save Turner.

But it was also possible that she loved him not at all and she had made her greatest sacrifice.

Did she love Turner? Was that it? He felt somehow, in some part of his bones, that it was.

Good Lord. He closed his eyes. Elizabeth had vowed to marry him to save the man she loved. And he had no idea what to do about it. He did not know Turner very well, had hoped she merely cared for him.

And it was so easy, watching her, the grace with which she moved, the radiance of her beauty, to dream that she loved him, if not with the endlessness that he held for her, than at least with some amount of passion. Once, it had seemed so true, like that dream was closer than he'd ever imagined. But something had changed, he realized with slow growing numbness: she had fallen in love with William Turner.

No. There was no proof of that.

And yet, there she sat, watching the sea, seeming to hold herself together with her folded arms.

She loved Turner, and she had given that up to save his life. He had not wanted to think this, but he did not see how it could be denied. There was no other explanation. She did not love him.

Pain shot through him. Elizabeth had vowed to marry him, when she loved another.

But what to do? The first time these thoughts had come to plague him, the instant he had seen her defiant, pleading, resolved face, as she gazed up at him, saying, 'I am', he had given her a way out. He asked that her choice be given unconditionally, something he knew she could not do while loving another man. But she had not taken it back, instead she had promised that it _was_ her choice. In effect, she had sworn to forget about Will.

Norrington could not pretend that there was anything that would make him happier, and for a little while, he'd had hope. But then, instead of staying safe in the cabin aboard the _Dauntless_, she'd rowed out, set the pirates on _The Black Pearl_ free, joined whatever was happening in the caves and then came out with Sparrow and Turner, perched as bold as ever in the back of the boat in her completely improper appropriated Marine uniform.

He wondered what she had said to Turner. Did she try and explain? Did they kiss? He flinched.

Norrington rested his head against the window frame in despair. The only thing he could do was hope that someday, somehow Elizabeth would learn to love him.

_~^///^~_

The sky was getting progressively stormier, but, oddly, Elizabeth's mood was not. A strange dead acceptance had spread over her. After all, the decision was made. She was going to marry James Norrington, and that was not a bad thing, not really. He was a good man; she'd known that for years. It would not have been hard to love him. Except for Will Turner.

She closed her eyes, licking salt off of her lips before it could dry and crack.

The only thing left to do was try and forget Will before her wedding, so she could go into it with all her heart, not with most of it hovering in a blacksmith shop down the main street.

Besides, he had never even told her he loved her. There had been that moment, when they were so close, alone except for Jack rummaging through gold like a squirrel in a cash of nuts, completely oblivious.

She'd wanted to explain, to tell him why, to make him understand that she loved him, but she couldn't do it and eventually she'd reminded him they were alone and people were waiting for them. "We should return to the _Dauntless_."

And all he'd said was, "Your fiancé will be wanting to know you're safe."

She felt a sudden irrational anger toward Will. For all of this, turning pirate to save her, crossing and double-crossing everyone, he couldn't come up with something more brilliant to say. He couldn't tell her that he loved her nor could he wish her luck or tell her he was sorry or even kiss her. No, he just muttered softly, almost bitterly, but resigned, "Your fiancé will be wanting to know you're safe."

Could he not be aware of how much she loved him? It went two ways, she supposed. Had anyone bothered to tell Will why she was marrying Norrington? She doubted it.

He probably didn't even know she loved him. Which was better, she guessed, though it hurt. Will should never have to know that she had given everything up when she said 'yes'. It wasn't fair to James. Let Jack tell Will if he wanted. At this moment, no one but Jack, her father, and Norrington himself knew the particular circumstance that had led up to her agreement and no one else needed to.

She felt suddenly bad for Commodore Norrington, or James as she figured she probably should start thinking of him as. It was such an honorable thing to do, giving her another chance to say no. He must know, how could he not?

What must it be like, to have the one you love, love another?

What if Will didn't love her, when she felt the way she did? What if he gave up another's love, and married her, the whole situation, reversed?

She thought about how that would feel, to have Will so close, to _hold_ him, if he didn't love her. Would she be good enough to let him go, to give him that chance? Could she live through that kind of almost? She didn't think so.

It made her feel horrible. How could she propose such a thing, offer him such a cruel dream? She'd held up what he wanted most, but not the way he wanted it. He didn't want her most, he wanted her love, and she had offered only the first. Yet, he couldn't refuse, not when she put it that way. No wonder he'd looked so miserable. At the time, she'd been thinking only of herself, of Will, and she'd never thought of what she was doing to him.

He'd told her clearly that what mattered was her love. He would rather lose her than force her, but that was what he was doing and he had no choice in the matter.

_I am a bitch_, Elizabeth decided, opening her eyes to watch the waves wreck against the shore. _And I have to forget about Will_. The least she could do for James after putting him in this terrible situation was give him her heart, her love. And to do that, she could no longer love Will.

It was like suggesting she carve out her lungs. Who would she be if Will's name was not on her lips with every breath, if she did not dream of him with astonishing regularity, shocking even herself sometimes? What would be left if she took the love that kept her heart beating and tore it from her chest? Could she live without it? The answer was that she would have to.

"Elizabeth?"

Her head jerked up, startled, to see James Norrington standing there behind her. He looked ashamed at having startled her.

"Commodore," she greeted, then amended, "James." She made to stand up, but he shook his head and sat down beside her. Pulling off his coat, he tucked it around her shoulders with great care.

"I didn't want you to get cold."

How could she explain that she was burning of a fever not brought by any illness? She must look insane, sitting down here in the cold salt spray without any sort of wrap. But James didn't ask her why she was sitting there. He merely tucked his knees in and placed his hands on the sand behind him.

She didn't often see him like this. He seemed to have set aside the air of command that seemed eternally present in favor of one of regret and depression. His white waistcoat showed off the tenseness of his shoulders, the curve of his spine and Elizabeth wondered why she noticed this now.

"Elizabeth, I-" he started, gazing resolutely at the sea, "I know...you've given me your answer, but I...I don't...when you-" he swallowed, trying to find the right words.

Elizabeth didn't want to hear this. She'd made her decision and she wasn't going to cause him any more pain. She didn't need any more chances to back out. It was insulting. She would stick by her promise, heartbreaking though it might be.

Softly, she reached over and smoothed her hand across his. Surprised, he looked up at her. She smiled softly. "James."

He sat up slightly, lifting his weight off of his hands, and she slipped her fingers under his. She could do this.

Suddenly, he smiled, and wrapped his fingers around hers. They said nothing, simply smiled at each other, each expression laced with a little pain, but genuine nonetheless.

Elizabeth scooted closer to him across the sand, suddenly nervous, and leaned against his side. He pushed his legs out straight and, letting go of her hand gently, placed a hesitant arm around her shoulders.

There was something comforting about being this close to him, his coat across her back. They sat for a while, staring out at the ocean, his thumb moving lightly, subconsciously, across the curve of her shoulder.

Yes, she could do this. She felt some of the love she'd known for him returning, back before Will had complicated everything. James was an easy man to love. She felt an inexplicable desire to pull this warm coat that smelled of him and the sea tighter around her.

Norrington sighed quietly, content, and she found she agreed. There was an assurance in this she had never felt with Will, a safety he imparted with his presence.

It was getting colder, the sky darkening under the angry eyebrows of one of the islands' frequent thunderstorms, and she felt a strange thrill as the wind bore down on them. In the harbour, ships were taking in all canvas and battening things down and a few merchants were running to port in case this one turned real nasty.

She wondered if she would experience the wild violence of the last few days ever again. There was terror in those memories, but there was adventure, too. She would never forget the scream of wind in the lines during a storm, the wicked clash of steel on steel, the gleam of gold, the horror of stabbing a man who would not die, the despair of that bleak, lonely island... It was not really something she'd care to do again, and yet there was some part of her blood that cringed from the normal, boring life she'd led before.

She laughed softly, at the feel of the wind in her hair, at the absurdity of what she was thinking. Boring? As in, not death-defying?

The clouds were looming over them, but she really felt no inclination to move.

"You should be getting back. Your father will be concerned with your whereabouts."

Elizabeth looked up at him and got the sudden feeling that James wanted to sit here and let the storm rage around him, too. What an odd idea, and yet...

"My father will know I am with you."

Norrington almost smiled. "Then perhaps someplace more...proper."

"Oh." They were, after all, sitting alone on a beach together in a storm, Elizabeth realized, and she wearing his coat. "Right."

Norrington slid his arm off her shoulder and stood up, helping her to her feet. Elizabeth pulled the coat off and handed it back, but he took it patiently and drew it back around her shoulders.

"We can't have you catch cold," and he said it with such care and affection, that Elizabeth could find no argument. She slipped her arm through his, with no real hesitation this time, and he guided her up the shore and back through town.

She could do this, as long as she thought only of the man whose arm she clung to, the light in his eyes, the small smile on his face. She could lie to herself.

They passed an old woman with a cart of vegetables who stared at them.

Elizabeth made to take off the coat again, but Norrington prevented her. "Oh, dear," he muttered dryly, "off gallivanting after pirates, only to have people stare because you're wearing my coat. Whatever shall we do?"

Elizabeth laughed, gazing up at him with real affection, holding his arm a little tighter.

She glanced down a side street and her insides turned to ice. Will was standing there, a forgotten bucket of tools in one hand, watching them. There was pain and sorrow written all over his wide, child-like eyes, though he fought to keep his expression neutral and Elizabeth immediately felt guilty. Guilty of what? Of showing affection toward her fiancé? But what she saw most in that expression was how much he loved her, how much agony seeing her like this caused him.

He really, truly did love her, even if he couldn't say it...

No! She was proposed to James! She loved him...didn't she?

Her heart began skipping beats. She had made a promise; she couldn't go back on it now, not even for the expression on Will's face. She. Loved. James. She. Was going. To. Marry him.

She looked down; pulling her thoughts from Will Turner and anything else, fever clenching an ache into her muscles. She tried to let the love she'd been tenuously feeling well up inside her, but it didn't work the same. Not when Will stood less than thirty feet away.

James hadn't seen, he was leading her up to the fort, and she tried to focus on his face instead of the hurt eyes she could feel ricocheting off of her back.

She could not allow herself to love Will. Her heart paid this no mind. It was racing, struggling, a-writhe with thoughts and emotions.

No, she told it heartlessly, coldly. No more thoughts of Will.

Not that this worked, of course, but by the time they reached the fort, she was painfully back on focus, thinking only of James, remembering the rare smiles she had seen today, the devotion in his voice. Maybe he would learn to smile more. He was handsomer when he did. She realized belatedly that she was falling in love with a side of James Norrington few people ever saw.

He took her into the fort, barely acknowledging the men who saluted him. Elizabeth felt plainly embarrassed in his coat, but he seemed to pay it no mind.

They went up to the main room outside his office, still rather battered after the fierce cannoning it had taken. They stood there, sheltered from the storm, not quite sure what to do and feeling a little awkward. Two officers were talking over in the corner and a man passed in the hall, but otherwise it was quiet.

It was beginning to get quite dark inside with the storm clouds moving over, and, for something to do besides stand there, Norrington began to light the lamps.

Elizabeth helped him and they moved around the wall together, igniting small pockets of flame behind the glass. Elizabeth stretched tall to reach one of the brackets and burnt her finger when the fire sparked into life.

"Ouch!" She stuck the tip of her burned finger in her mouth reflexively.

"Are you alright?" She could not figure how he had appeared at her side so suddenly in the half-lit room.

She smiled a little; it was only a singed finger. "Yes, I'm fine." She pulled her hand from her mouth, embarrassed, but he took her hand with a gently serious expression and examined the burn.

It was, as she said, nothing bad, but he carefully looked her hand over anyways, touching the grimy, knotted cloth across her palm with one finger.

"When was the last time you changed these?" he asked softly.

"Er..." It had been several days. In all honesty, she hadn't wanted to change them since Will's rough, gentle hands had bandaged them up.

"Wait here." He swept off, and Elizabeth waited, holding his coat tighter in the chill of the cold stone room. The officers were gone now, and she listened to footsteps pass in another hallway, until, suddenly, Norrington returned.

There was a small skin of water in his hands and several strips of clean white cotton. Draping these over his arm, he took her hand gently and carefully untied and unwrapped the bandages around her hand. The cut beneath was a dark reddish black, but not infected, not painful, healing well.

James spread her fingers, palm up, and splashed water across her palm, spattering it across the stone tiles, dabbing away the old blood. She glanced up at his face; he was working with a thoughtful intensity, fine lines gracing his brow. When the wound was clean, or at least cleaner than it had been, he dried it with careful strokes designed not to cause her pain and slowly wrapped her hand in the clean cloth.

All of this was done without speaking, simple, caring gestures she frankly did not know how to respond to.

"Thank you, James," she murmured when he was done, feeling a pang for the last person who had done this for her.

He nodded, watching her eyes. "Strange storm," he finally said softly.

"Yes."

"You're sure your father knows where you are?" That was James, always looking out for her. But she wasn't a little girl any more.

"No, but he can assume whatever he likes." She was afraid of the thoughts she might have away from him. She didn't want to leave.

Norrington considered that for a moment. "He knows you better," he decided simply.

It was cold, tropic rain beginning to hammer on the roof, and Elizabeth stepped closer to him. The lamplight cast flickering patterns on his face, hiding his expression.

"Elizabeth...I...just wanted you to know...how much I care for you." His voice was very sincere and, though he was standing very close, there was nothing uncomfortable about it. He was nervous, that she could see, but the love in his eyes was unmistakable.

And she wished fervently in that moment, more than she ever had before, that she loved him like he loved her.

Once, she would have called this love, before she found herself, her heart, completely sold. But she had to buy it back, had to trade it in for this affection, these emotions that paled in comparison, and she had to do it with her whole heart. She had to really love him, with no thoughts of Will, unreservedly, because she was with him forever.

His left hand came up to tremble faintly against her cheek, brushing away a stray curl, his knuckles cool against her flushed skin.

He leaned forward cautiously, and she shook with how close he was, her skin electric with anticipation, his eyes watching hers, swallowing softly, nervously.

Elizabeth exhaled, her pulse beginning to speed without her permission, and summoned every bit of love she'd ever had for him, real or imagined, every girlish thought she'd ever had of him, every time she'd ever considered calling him husband, the comfort of his presence, the safety of his arms, and lifted her head to let James Norrington kiss her.

His lips were gentle, almost hesitant, his fingers brushing the back of her neck.

He tastes like the sea, Elizabeth thought with a mental smile, her eyelids fluttering closed.

The kiss was sweet, reserved, but full of an incredible amount of passion.

And Elizabeth gave up the ghost of what had been and loved him, moved, her heart beating faster, his breath warm against her face. Maybe she couldn't love him the way she loved Will and certainly not one-fifth of how much he loved her, but she could love him. And at that instant, she stopped letting him kiss her and kissed him.

It was a subtle difference, but she felt the change in him, the joy so strong it was almost pain, the tenderness in the way he cradled her head, the way his lips moved beneath the smile that curved the edges of them.

Elizabeth slipped one hand over his arm, feeling the smooth curve of his shoulder under his sleeves and slid her other arm around his neck. The salt on his lips was like fire, or was that just the kiss? Elizabeth didn't know, but she kept her eyes closed as his breathing stuttered, emboldened by the feel of her arms around his neck.

He pushed the kiss, softly, a little more insistence, a little more of the passion she could feel trembling behind his mouth, in his veins, his breath almost a gasp now. There was virtually no space between them; Elizabeth could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts. They were connected by fire and sparks, her eyes still closed, feeling the magneticy, the breathlessness.

Slowly, he brought the kiss back down until his lips were still and lingering against hers, only his fingers moving in her hair, then drew back, gently, reluctantly, both of their hearts hammering like the rain on the roof.

Elizabeth opened her eyes. He was regarding her with the most profound look of adoration and she found herself melt a little before his unusual, beautiful, display of humanity.

"Elizabeth," he whispered hoarsely.

"James." She wrapped her arms around him and he held her close, his head bowed over hers. She listened to his ageless heartbeat slow, her face pressed into his waistcoat and the warmth of his smell, the wash of his breathing like breaking waves.

For how long they stood there, she didn't know, hours and minutes all rolled into one.

Footsteps, a voice saying, "Commodore Norrington, sir, if-"

They glanced up. Lieutenant Gillette had frozen in the corridor. He looked mortified.

"I-uh, I'll be out...out there, sir," he stammered and fairly fled.

Norrington turned back to Elizabeth, holding her gaze in his luminous eyes, his hands restlessly soothing on her shoulders. He smiled, seeming to hesitate, then stepped back, his hands slipping from her shoulders to hold her delicate fingers.

"Elizabeth," he said again, softly, and then abruptly, his hands were gone from hers, he had turned and was striding away, his head dipped, his shoulders straight.

She stood and watched him go, shaking, feeling a brilliant glow light her chest.

He paused at the entrance to the corridor, and turned, a soft smile on his face. He held out his arm, an invitation on his face.

She walked over and joined him, looping her arm through his. They passed down the long cold corridor without speaking, shoes inaudible over the racket on the roof to the larger, main room they had come in by.

Gillette stood there, shifting slightly and examining the floor, his face a faint, dull red.

"Miss Swann," he greeted, inclining his head.

"Lieutenant Gillette."

"Your father appears concerned about you, he's sent a team down to take you through the storm with a request for immediacy."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Commodore, sir, there are several important matters which I believe we would do well not to postpone. If I might..." He looked unsure and his gaze flickered over to Elizabeth. Clearly he thought he was interrupting something.

Norrington glanced between Elizabeth and Gillette, clearly torn. Elizabeth decided for him.

"Commodore Norrington, I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. I can get home by myself."

For a moment, she almost thought she saw him smile.

"Of course. Gillette, if you could wait for me...? I'll only be a moment."

"Certainly, sir."

Norrington led her through the door and back out through the fort. Elizabeth could smell the rain now, strong and sweet, gusts of cool air sweeping up the stone halls. She shuddered and James pulled her a little closer, lending her his warmth.

They reached the vast entryway and looked out, the rain hissing and spattering against the stone floor, draping the ocean in a living fog.

A footman stood just inside and he bowed slightly when they approached, gesturing at the thoroughly soaked team and carriage stopped out in the mud. "Miss Swann."

Norrington turned to her, a rare, flighty smile on his lips, and slid the sleeves of the coat over her arms.

"Commodore, but-"

"I have another," he murmured, tucking the coat about her chin, "keep it as long as you like."

Standing there in his warm, too big coat, the cuffs dragging past the tips of her fingers, watching the small smile on his face, Elizabeth felt herself fall a little more in love with him, something she'd never thought she'd do.

"Thank you."

He smoothed the coat across her shoulders one last time, then took her hand.

The rain hit them like a wall; chill water shattering across their skin, robbing their breath. Elizabeth gasped, laughing absurdly, as the cold rain trickled over her neck and down the front of her dress. They were soaked in a matter of seconds, though they hurried across the yard, James pulling at her hand like she was a little child, the footman holding open the door to reveal the inviting dry warmth of the interior.

But, suddenly, for no real reason, they stopped, a few feet from the carriage, and looked at each other. Water was running down his face, and he blinked, rain shining on his eyelashes. They stood in the pouring rain for an eternity of seconds, not knowing why, just staring at each other, frozen, the exhilarating chill of cold water sliding down their spines.

Suddenly, he picked her up, one arm going around her waist, the other pressing the soaked coat and skirts to her legs, and, ducking, set her in the carriage.

Elizabeth gaped at him, stunned, hoping no one had seen, her heart thudding loudly. "Commodore..."

He was very close and for an instant, Elizabeth wondered if he was going to kiss her. But he merely breathed, "Call me James," and stepping back, let the footman shut the door.

_~^///^~_


	2. Chapter 2 Debate

A Martyr's Choice – Chapter Two – Debate

~^///^~

"Elizabeth! Where were you?"

_He looks terribly worried,_ Elizabeth noted, and she felt a little ashamed. She shouldn't have gone off like that without telling him, not when he'd only just gotten his only daughter back.

His look changed to one of confusion as he realized that not only was she soaked, she was wearing a long blue Navy coat. Norrington's coat. Realization began to dawn in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, father. I was with James at the fort." Why did she thrill a little when she said that?

Governor Swann seemed surprised but also pleased. "Well...still! Running about in a storm like this! Without even telling me?"

"I'm sorry."

Governor Swann gave her a fond smile. "It's only because I care for you, Elizabeth. But why on earth have you got Commodore Norrington's coat?"

"He didn't want me to catch cold. I wasn't really prepared for this storm."

_If ever anyone looked overly pleased! _thought Elizabeth. Her father shook his head.

"Yes, it did come up rather suddenly, didn't it? One of the dreadful things about island weather. Still, should clear up by morning."

"Yes." She was still a little dazed.

"Goodness, why am I keeping you? You're soaked! Go, change into something dry!"

Elizabeth headed for the stairs, but was stopped when he asked, "Elizabeth?"

She turned around. A pleased smile danced on his features. "Did you have plans for tomorrow?"

Elizabeth smiled and started climbing the stairs. "Oh, I imagine I can find something to occupy my time," she called back loftily.

_~^///^~_

It was good her bed was soft, because she hit it with considerable force. Violence she couldn't quite explain was coursing through her veins, her fists knotted in her pillow, tears streaking her face.

Oh, it wasn't fair! Why did she have to deal with this? Why wouldn't it all just go away?

She'd only just allowed them to change her into a clean, dry dress, towel down her sopping hair, and heat up her room, before she chased Estrella and the rest out and flopped onto her bed.

Her heart struggled to balance and she thought suddenly of Will, his hurt eyes, and a startled sob burst like a bubble in her throat. What had she done?

Without warning the tears were flowing down her face. What kind of fate had given her such a choice? She loved Will and he loved her, but she was set to marry James. And she loved him too.

How could this be? How could she love two men at the same time? That wasn't the way it was supposed to work!

She squeezed her eyes shut and saw Will's face, back on Isla De Muerta, when she'd thought he was going to kiss her.

It was stupid to even play harbour to such thoughts! Here she was, proposed to a fine man, a man she loved, a man who adored her beyond words and still she thought of Will Turner, young, rash, a blacksmith and a pirate, who'd never even had the courage to say he loved her. Sometimes, there were moments when she had seen into his wide, dark eyes and thought he was going to say it, but he never did...

It didn't matter. She was proposed and she had to banish thoughts of Will who may or may not be the man she thought he was for thoughts of a good man who truly loved her.

She smiled through her tears. One kiss could change anything.

She had known for a long time now that James fancied her; it had been something of a constant in her mind, even without her father's remarks, hints and blessings. She was used to this fact, had known that someday, he would propose and she would accept. He was a fine man, she had known him most of her life and she knew she could be happy with him.

But then Will Turner had grown up over night. It had been slow, really, beginning when he'd started calling her 'Miss Swann' again. He'd been around less, more cautious, working longer hours as his Master worked less, different in small ways, until suddenly he had grown into a man and Elizabeth had turned around to find she loved him.

_Oh, of all the terrible timing! _she ranted silently, her mood darkening again. To have her heart betray her suddenly for a fatherless blacksmith, when her world was so carefully ordered!

But she was going back, back to the days when Will was a silly childhood friend, the same age, but younger in ways, older in others and she was beginning to look at James Norrington the way he looked at her.

And that look! The look in his eyes when he'd kissed her! She'd had no idea he loved her so fathomlessly. James Norrington loved her the way she loved Will.

Now there was a depressing thought. Still, she could do this. She'd proved that to herself today.

As insane, as frightening, as unbelievable as it was, she loved him too. As much as she didn't understand it, alongside the pathetically desperate love she felt for Will, a small part of her heart beat for the Commodore.

What kind of scarlet woman did that make her? What kind of a woman was in love with two men at the same time? Because she knew in her heart that if she let herself, if she indulged in a few more kisses like that, she could easily fall completely in love with James.

The tears began to run again. That was what she should do, of course, fall in love with him.

And yet...That was it. It always came back to that. And yet. She loved Will with a deep, endless kind of love that could not be torn from her body, even were she dead.

They would be engaged soon, married after that. But dammit! She was still thinking of Will! What had she gotten herself into?

Oh, if only Will had never been put on that stupid ship, she thought savagely. Then we wouldn't be here like this!

She was instantly horrified with herself. No Will? What a horrendous thought! How could she live without him? As much as her body tried to kill her whenever she was in his presence by stopping her heart and her breath, she couldn't imagine a world where she wouldn't see his foolish, nervous little grin.

She cursed under her breath. This wasn't getting her anywhere. She didn't think there had ever been such a debate in the history of man: blacksmith or Commodore?

Elizabeth loosed a hysterical giggle. She was so very stupid. The choice was incredibly obvious, there was just the small complication that she happened to be in love with the stupid blacksmith. And the Commodore. At the same time.

She sighed. She was really only fooling herself. If ever there had been a time when she could still allow herself to dream of Will, it had been earlier, when James had come down to give her one more chance to be a coward and break his heart. And she had turned it away. She had kissed him. There really was no going back, and, if she were any kind of decent, she wouldn't want to. She really had to forget Will.

Like turning back the ocean, she snorted. But she had to try, else lose herself and everything she valued in complete madness.

Who would want her anyway, toying with two men's love?

She sprawled across the bed, listening to the storm lash against the roof.

Technically, she could still go back to Will... That was the wrong way to think, but she could not seem to quash the rebellious part of her mind that held such thoughts.

If she went to James, explained it to him, the way she felt...But to cause him such pain...And would she regret it, in the years to come? Would she wish she'd stayed with him? What would everyone think, her father most especially?

James would let her go. She could break all bonds, all faith in herself and her honesty, his heart and her standing, if that was what she really wanted, and go off with Will. But wouldn't that be killing part of herself?

She wished there was someone she could talk with about this, someone that could help her get her thoughts in a manageable order. Estrella understood her better than most, but this was hardly a conversation she could have with her. No, someone a little less bound by the rules, someone who understood desperate moves, someone who...

She sat up suddenly. Jack! Of course! She would talk to Jack Sparrow! He was odd, bizarre and at times stark raving mad, but he seemed like someone who might actually have some advice that wasn't biased.

Elizabeth glanced out the window at the constant deluge doing it's best to drown Port Royal in the sea. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would see if she could get down to talk to Jack. And after that she would see what she could do to get him freed. And then...well, then she would have to make a choice.

Lifting the sodden coat off the chair where they had put it when she refused to let them take it away, she pressed it to her face. She wondered what he was doing now, somewhere out there in the storm. She wondered what Will was doing.

And looking out at the rain, she clutched the coat to her chest and cried.

_~^///^~_


	3. Chapter 3 Strawberries and Cages

A Martyr's Choice – Chapter Three – Strawberries and Cages

~^///^~

Elizabeth woke, empty. For a moment, she lay on her side and stared at the drapes, feeling for all the world as if she were that parasol she'd seen drifting on the water, eight years ago: upside down, lost and totally out of her element. She considered whether she was going to cry for a moment, but no tears came, just an uncomfortable stinging. Slowly, she sat up, wishing she were doing the opposite and a bundle of fabric tumbled from beneath her head. She picked it up. Oh. James' coat. She'd fallen asleep hugging it to her face, crying, comfort radiating from the smell of the sea and...something else she couldn't quite place. She held it up. It was really quite crumpled. What was she going to do with it? That depended, as everything else did, on her choice. The coat fell into her lap.

It reminded her of a story she'd heard once, when she was a small girl. _A man, given a choice of two doors as punishment. Behind one, a beautiful lady who would become his bride. Behind the other, a vicious animal that would tear him to shreds. No difference in the doors, no way to tell...His lover knew which was which and each to each._ She had never really understood the story when she was young. It was obvious: point to the door with the lady. But she understood it now. To watch your lover die or see him with another? The story had no end; you never knew which door she pointed to, another thing she hadn't understood when she was a girl. What story didn't have an end?

But she realized there could be no end. That woman had to make a choice, as she, Elizabeth, had to make a choice. But the fate was her own love. Whose life was she going to ruin? How many souls would she kill before this was over? She had to choose, but all she saw was agony any way she turned.

James had to choose.

Will hadn't been given a choice.

And she had known what was behind both doors all along. Funny thing was, she didn't know which she'd picked when she said, "I am."

Will would have called it a lady.

James would have said it was a tiger.

And she thought of it as a little of both.

Which door would they have indicated, she wondered, if I were choosing again? James...would tell me to go with Will. And Will...She shuddered. She had the terrible feeling that Will would feed her to the tiger. And was he wrong for that?

What door would she choose, were he in the arena? Would she give him away? Or let him die? She'd already done some of each. And she knew she would regret either one.

Knocking. "Miss?" Estrella.

"Yes," Elizabeth called wearily, stashing the coat hurriedly under her pillow and sliding off the bed, "Come in."

Estrella came bustling in and stopped short at Elizabeth's bleary expression. "I didn't wake ye, Miss?" she inquired worriedly.

"No...I'm just a little slow this morning."

"Well, I brought ye some tea, Miss, and a message from your father."

"Oh?"

Estrella clasped her hands behind her back and recited, "He says he has complete confidence in your ability to fill a day, but he requests you choose your company wisely." Estrella winked. "Meanin' the Commodore, Miss," she added boldly.

Elizabeth studied her curiously.

"Oh, come now, Miss, he must ha' asked for an answer by now!"

"Yes...and I gave one."

"Oh?"

"Really, Estrella, what do you think I said?" Elizabeth snapped, half annoyed, half playful.

A slow grin spread across Estrella's face. "Well, Miss, I'll say it again: that's one smart match. Marryin' a Commodore! My, my! An' he's han'some, too!"

Elizabeth smiled, knowing she should be able to summon more joy than this. "Bring me some toast and strawberry jam, would you?" Hang what society said about women who ate in the morning! Some bread could hardly hurt her!

"Yes, Miss."

"And I'll be getting dressed in a minute; I have places to go."

She munched her toast thoughtfully, wandering around her room like an unresolved ghost while Estrella lay a gown out for her and replenished her teacup occasionally.

She had half a mind to go see James. She didn't think she could handle any more aloneness, any more thoughts of tigers, even if it caused more problems later. She had to be with someone.

People were talking downstairs; it sounded if someone was being let into the main hall. The footman knocked on the door a moment later and announced, "Someone to see you, Miss Swann."

Estrella ducked out onto the landing and immediately scurried back and flattened herself against the wall, shutting the door again.

"Saints preserve us," she gasped. "It's the Commodore!"

Elizabeth dropped her toast. "Help me!" she blurted at Estrella. "I'm not even dressed!"

Estrella dove for the gown and Elizabeth, examining her jam-sticky fingers, found nothing to do with them except stick them in her mouth. The gown slid over her head and she stuck her arms through it, jerking it down over her chest. "It's a good-thing-father refuses-to," she shoved at the tight material every few words, "let me-wear-corsets-anymore!" The gown slid down and she set about fixing her hair while Estrella laced up the back.

"Why did he have to show up so early?" she complained.

"'Tisn't early anymore, Miss, an' it's a beautiful day. The storm's passed an' he's probably been up for hours-"

"Oh, no!" wailed Elizabeth, catching sight of the mirror and cutting her off, "I look a total mess!"

"Not at all, Miss, you'll do fine with a little fixing up."

Elizabeth was slotting earrings through her ears. She let Estrella cover her in hasty make-up, tear out her hair fastening it up, and straighten out her uncooperative clothes, before deciding that it was going to have to do.

"Oh, people already think bad of me," she grumbled, slipping on shoes, "I guess it doesn't really matter, I doubt he'll notice anyway." And so saying, she swept out onto the landing.

Norrington was standing just inside the door, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing idly around the room. He looked up at her approach, but allowed no emotion to cross his face. "Miss Swann."

"James!"

Behind her, Estrella giggled. Norrington glanced at her mildly and Estrella flushed and dipped into a curtsy, her eyes scraping the floor. Norrington almost smiled.

"I thought perhaps you might wish to spend the day with me," he said softly, as though afraid of rejection.

"Of course." And without a backward glance at Estrella or anyone else, she tripped down the stairs and took his arm.

He helped her into a carriage and they rode without speaking up to the fort, and it was only after they had begun climbing a set of stairs that Elizabeth did not recognize that she found anything to say.

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace I like to go and think. Was there somewhere you wished to go?"

"No, I...I just have never been here before. I had no other plans for the day."

"If you do not wish to be alone with me, we can-"

She sighed. So like him to take that the wrong way.

"James. Do you really think that matters anymore?"

He seemed surprised. "Of course it matters."

She smiled rather sadly. "I was kidnapped by pirates, James. I came home in a Marine uniform. There's no one left to impress. I have no standing, no society left. Let them think whatever they like."

"That people are narrow-minded should not reflect on your self value."

"My self value has little to do with their shallow opinions."

Norrington had no response to this, so they walked on, climbing the steep stairs slowly, he bracing her arm in case she stumbled in her impractical shoes.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Elizabeth gasped. They had come out of a far-flung arm of the fort that curved about the bowl of the bay. There was nothing up here but a few cannons and a stretch of wall that dropped sickeningly to the ocean far below. They could look down to where the jungle crept in close to the cold stone foundations, smell the ever-present brine of the sea. The sun beat down bright and hot and though Elizabeth searched, she could not find a single cloud.

"I can see why," she mused, strolling forward and looking about with wide eyes. She was going to ask if anyone else ever came up here, but she realized that that hardly sounded like a proper question, so she said nothing.

"You look very lovely, Miss Swann."

Elizabeth hid a smile. "Thank you, Commodore." She suddenly felt very lonely and very fragile. _I fell off these very walls because of London fashion_, she thought grimly, _and almost drowned. But then Jack saved me. No gain to him, no reason to it. But he did. And now he's going to hang._

She considered trying to say something to James about it, but this did not seem to be the time. He had come up behind her while she thought and now stood just behind her. She sensed that he was about to say something, but he never did. She turned around to look at him. His hands were crossed behind his back and he wore the same nondescript expression he usually did.

"Just thinking," she muttered by way of an explanation.

"Nothing too disturbing, I hope."

"Oh...just..." She would not lie and say, 'Nothing', "...things." She wobbled suddenly as she said it and he caught her arm. "These stupid shoes! I prefer boots!" she complained. "Honestly, James," she asked seriously, "have you ever tried a pair of these?"

He stared at her a moment, then a slow, incredulous smile spread across his face.

"I was being serious!"

A strange expression alit upon his features and she realized after half a second that he was trying not to laugh. She had never heard him laugh.

"You're laughing at me," she teased, trying to provoke him, suddenly needing to actually hear him laugh. He tried to iron out his features without a lot of success.

"No...I-"

"Is it that funny? Really, I ought to make you wear them! It's that or a corset!"

That did it. Startled laughter burst out of his throat and he doubled over slightly, covering his mouth with his hand. Elizabeth hadn't realized how much she was looking forward to that sound until she was laughing with him, mostly at him, for laughing in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled, straightening.

"Clothes designed to break your legs and then drown you! And you all wondered why I stayed in that uniform?"

Norrington's face sobered and she wished she hadn't said anything. "You know that I...would have gone in after you."

"I do."

He turned away awkwardly and she took the opportunity to murmur, "I would have drowned." She thought she saw his shoulders bow.

"Is that why you persisted in dressing so improperly? Or was it rather to annoy Governor Swann and myself?"

"Actually, James," Elizabeth corrected lightly, "my gown tore in half."

He had not been expecting this and his eyebrows rose slightly. "I would consider that a rather outstanding reason, then."

For some reason, Elizabeth found this funny. Norrington smiled patiently, and taking her arm, began to walk aimlessly, but not without purpose, around the wall. Elizabeth found her mood slumping again, though she could not say exactly why. Maybe it was the fact that this was nowhere near as easy as it looked. James was tense, the expressionless mask back, and she found herself longing for a moment before, when he had been so open, so...unafraid.

The breeze swept down the wall, ruffling Elizabeth's skirts, and she breathed in the sweet perfume of some flower, born across the miles to this cold stone stockade. A moment later, the flower itself came drifting through the air, and James reached up with a quick motion and lifted it out of the air. He turned to her and flipping over his hand, unfolded his fingers to display a small, shockingly pink petal that Elizabeth could not recall ever having seen before. She picked it up off his palm before the wind could blow it away again, and spun it before her eyes. It was curved in on itself like a funnel, supple as a plant stem, completely intoxicating and, like her, did not belong here in these formidable stone walls. Norrington reached over, took the little flower, and gently threaded it through her hair, smoothing it down with his fingers.

Elizabeth smiled and took his hands. He gazed down at her fondly, but Elizabeth could see sadness hidden somewhere in his features.

"What's wrong?"

Norrington just shook his head, lifted her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, a smile possessing one side of his mouth with effort.

Elizabeth wrapped her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder, feeling as if her heart were going to suddenly give out on her as surely as her knees were. She had been wrong. She was already in love with James. He seemed to shake off whatever dark thought he was having, at least in part, and they resumed their aimless stroll.

She did not feel flustered or awkward as she would have thought, as she felt around Will, merely...comfortable.

They were past most of the polite society gestures. They'd been through things together. They knew pain and desperate measures. He loved her, and he didn't have to kiss her knuckles and catch her eyes across the room to tell her that. She loved him, and she didn't have to flutter behind a fan to let him know that.

So they just walked, expressing it somehow through the touch of their arms, in a way that he, hesitant, formal, and she, pained, doubtful, warring with emotions and embarrassed by her reciprocation, could never say. They knew the value of a silent word, a grudging smirk, a smile that didn't quite reach the eyes. They weren't perfect, far from it, it wasn't true love or a fairy-tale romance, but somehow, it was better that way. They needed each other and they each were killing the other.

Elizabeth glanced up at him, wondering what it would be like to leave him, if she was capable of that, if she would really go through, and he glanced down, wondering the same thing. Their gazes brushed. And at that moment, James felt her sliding away from him, inevitable, unstoppable. And somehow, just for an instant, he didn't mind. He'd caught a bird, a beautiful bird, and held it in his hands for a moment, a shining, stunning moment. But when his fingers slid apart, he knew the bird would fly away, as birds are meant to. Who was he, to build a cage?

Elizabeth stared into eyes that, just this once, were completely open, his face smooth. She wanted to sink into them, to disappear into the calm he always sailed through, even in the face of death or heartbreak. But she was on fire and even the ocean in his bright green eyes couldn't put it out. If she was going to fall into those eyes, she needed to be sure she was never coming back up. And right now, she had a demonic desire to see the sun set over the sea one last time, before she drowned.

They were back where they started, gazing out over the ocean where a lone ship crested the horizon, the faint white gleam of her tops'ls shining on the glass-green water.

James slid his arm from hers and put it around her waist carefully, keeping his arm loose, his fingers resting against her side. He was still so cautious, reserved. Elizabeth stepped toward him, letting his arm tighten across her back, running her hands over his arms to his shoulders.

He leaned in close, but instead of kissing her, he rested his forehead against hers, pushing back his tricorner, and gazed into her eyes. Somehow, there was more intimacy in this than a half dozen kisses, the subtle emerald patterns of his irises eclipsing her vision, their breath mingling before their lips. He wrapped his arms around her slowly, his lips moving to words without sound, skimming across the surface of hers without really touching. And then his hands rose to her shoulders, he tilted his head just enough to the right without drawing back, and he was kissing her.

It was almost too soft to be called a kiss. His lips brushed over hers, lightly, just enough to send shivers over her skin, parted her lips gently and drew back again, tracing over again with that light, lightning touch that was like kissing the wind, only infinitely more enviable. He was slow, thorough, his eyes never leaving hers, until her mouth burned and she thought her arms around his neck might be bruising him. He pushed down against her jaw, and then he was in her mouth, tentative, each contact a vivid spark.

She shut her eyes, unprepared for this, and let him kiss her for a moment, fire building in her veins, accustoming herself to this strange sensation. He seemed to sense her hesitancy, and drew back, his lips never leaving hers, never stopping, but Elizabeth opened her eyes, placed cool hands on either side of his face, holding him there, and pushed open his mouth. A shudder ran through his breathing as she touched the roof of his mouth.

He kissed her smoothly, his hand sliding down over her shoulder, catching on her collarbone, down over her heart and down. And just like that, it was done. He pulled away, closing his eyes and clenching his hand as though burned.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. But then he turned his ocean-colored eyes on her again and came back, deliberately smoothing his hands over her back, his lips coming to meet hers again. They kissed softly, unconsciously moving closer, his hands scribing patterns on her muscles, his pulse kicking against her palm. Gently, ever so gently, he pulled his lips from hers, and, bending forward, whispered in her ear, "You taste like strawberry."

Elizabeth giggled breathlessly, absurdly, her arms twined around his neck. She propped her head on his shoulder, and tenderly, he slid his hands around her waist.

Norrington buried his face in her hair, stroking her back, his eyes closed. "Elizabeth," he breathed. At that moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to stand here, forever, until darkness fell and the world broke apart around them and everything was gone, because he knew what would happen when he let her go. "Elizabeth," he whispered again and there was so much pain in his voice, that Elizabeth shifted and looked up into his suddenly open eyes.

She was too perfect, too lovely, for any man to have to hold so close and let her go. Could he do it? Could he let her go, let her leave, let her be free?

And in that instant, gazing down into her velvet eyes, sundered by choices and sorrow, James Norrington made his choice. He pressed his lips to her forehead once more and stepped back. Slowly, he clasped her slender fingers between his hands, forming a cage. _But _w_ho am I to build a cage?_ James had caught a bird, and now he was setting it free. He unfolded his hands and drew them away, palms out, like a man surrendering.

"Elizabeth, if you're going to leave me, please do so now."

She stared at him, her mouth open, her eyes like a startled deer. Her mouth twisted, but no words came out, pain like broken glass in her pupils.

James shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away, his pulse still racing.

"James!"

He turned around; she was staring after him desperately.

"I can't...I don't..." she choked, her voice thick with tears, though there were none yet on her face.

_What must it feel like, falling off of a cliff? Not to die, but just to fall... It must be something like this..._

"I...I don't...James...don't make me..." she whispered the last word, "choose."

He came back and she seized the front of his coat and kissed him. He kissed her back before pulling away with difficulty.

"Is this your choice?"

"It's been my choice for a long time."

"But is it your choice now?

"There is no choice!"

"There is always a choice," he told her fiercely.

She stepped back, looking betrayed. "I don't know..." she finally whispered

And then she was kissing him and he held her close, her tears glimmering in the bright sunlight. He pulled away, kissing her fingers, knowing somehow that he would never kiss her again.

"James? James!"

Everything was bright and over loud. He swallowed loudly, her slim fingers twisting through his, and forced his eyes shut, blocking out the chaos that had suddenly erupted in his soul, making him lightheaded. He could do this. Despite the thousand, frantic voices that said he could not, he could do this.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, opening his eyes, calm once more.

"James!" She sounded terrified. He looked at her, everything going blurry, feeling her fingers against his face. He blinked, bringing a bewildered hand to his cheek. Crying. He was crying.

He blinked again, clearing his eyes, and studied the tears on his fingertips. He could not remember the last time he had cried. His voice was steady, his face composed, and yet salt was spilling from his lashes and streaking slowly down his cheeks. He clenched his fist over the tears, averting his gaze. And then he looked at Elizabeth.

She was horrified, her face a perfect, open book, pushing aside the tears with trembling fingers.

"James..."

He touched her face, gently, one last time, then turned away, his eyes out on a horizon only he could see. He thought several times that she was going to say something, but she never quite got the words out from her throat.

Finally, he felt her hand on his arm and he turned to take her gently in his arms, but there was no passion in the embrace, only warmth and sadness, and the sweetness of her touch. They stood that way for a long time, unable to speak, tears drying slowly on their faces, until she stepped back and looked him full in the face, squinting slightly as though she were gazing at the sun. He searched her face, but there was nothing there to read. She smiled sadly, saying nothing, explaining nothing because there was nothing that could be said or explained.

_Once upon a time, there was a woman, who was in love with two different men. And both men loved her. So the woman had to make a choice. And she didn't choose me._

By the time she finally turned and ran, James was past noticing, his eyes out over the sea he wished would come to claim him there upon the battlements, just wash it all away. He was remembering the taste of strawberries and falling, falling through the dark.

_~^///^~_


	4. Chapter 4 Sleepless

A Martyr's Choice – Chapter Four – Sleepless

~^///^~

"Commodore, someone to see you."

He glanced up, no emotion lighting his face, no change in expression at all. "Miss Swann."

"Commodore." She seated herself in the chair in front of his desk, smoothing out the skirt of her pale blue gown.

He had been in the middle of reading some report or other; his coat and hat were hung on a chair and he was bent over an official document, his forehead propped on his hand. He straightened, noting how serious Elizabeth's face was.

"It's about Jack Sparrow."

Norrington stiffened slightly, but said nothing.

"He was tried?"

"And convicted."

"But that's not right! James, you know that isn't right!"

"Miss Swann..."

"He doesn't deserve to hang! James, please..."

"The man is a pirate," Norrington explained softly, "What would you have me do?"

"Something!"

"Elizabeth..." Norrington said helplessly, setting his mouth into a thin line, "Sparrow must pay for his crimes."

"It isn't fair!"

"I never said it was fair."

She did not have a response to this.

"Look... Piracy is a crime, Elizabeth, and that can neither be changed nor overlooked. Governor Swann has already stretched his authority in pardoning William Turner. What would you have me do?"

"Alright," Elizabeth mumbled defeatedly, looking away, "I understand."

"Do you?"

Elizabeth stood up. "I apologize for taking your time."

Norrington looked at her, all emotion hidden from his face.

"Good day, Commodore."

"Good day, Miss Swann."

She turned and left his office and he sat ruminating, staring a hole in the wall.

_~^///^~_

It was past midnight, and Elizabeth Swann was still not asleep. She stood on her balcony in her shift, watching the moon travel lazily over the slumbering mortals below. Fever boiled in her bones and the knuckles that held the rail were milk-white. She was probably giving someone quite a show, but she didn't really care. She wished she were dead.

Out somewhere in the never-quite-quiet town of Port Royal, she knew there were three men who weren't getting any sleep either. And for two of them, it was her fault.

She had no insides anymore; she'd cried them all away. She was hollow, and bitter and cold. Blackness came and with it a kind of insensate drear that she bowed to, crawling back into her pitch-dark room like a spider in a web, pulling the balcony doors shut as she went.

_~^///^~_


	5. Chapter 5 A Beautiful Bird

A Martyr's Choice – Chapter Five – A Beautiful Bird

_A/N: I've posted the missing chapter, where Elizabeth goes to talk to Jack, separately, under the title 'Advice for the Martyred'. I recommend reading it – it helps to sort things out._

~^//^~

"This is wrong." It was the first thing she had said the entire morning.

Governor Swann glanced at her. "Commodore Norrington is bound by the law. As are we all." They'd already had this argument.

Norrington looked down, not wanting to be reminded of this fact. The drums were loud in the hot morning over the restless crowd, a steady, anxious beat.

Jack wore a resigned expression, but no fear. Not yet anyway. Something the official said seemed to irritate him; he was muttering to himself. Even on the gallows the man maintained his cavalier insanity.

Elizabeth's eyes swept over the unpleasant expressions on their faces, then turned back to the lone pirate grinning faintly, ludicrously, on the narrow wooden platform. It wasn't right, but there was nothing she could do about it.

William Turner pushed his way through the crowd to stand before them, an elaborately plumed hat cocked upon his head. Norrington looked at him, wondering what he was up to now.

"Governor Swann."

_Turner, what are you doing?_

"Commodore."

Norrington nodded, as courtesy dictated, frowning at the man in front of him for distracting him from the matter at hand.

_If this is some manner of attempt to save Sparrow, you're a bit late._

"Elizabeth." His face was young, open, pleading.

She looked at him with a haughty, faintly hysterical expression.

"I should have told you every day since the moment I met you."

Elizabeth stared at him, her head coming down, numb disbelief and amazement warring on her features.

"I love you."

Norrington and Governor Swann stared blankly at the wide, little-boy eyes of Will Turner then turned to Elizabeth, waiting for her reaction.

There was nothing but shock on her face as she opened her mouth to say something, but Turner had spun and walked away, shoving people aside.

Governor Swann sighed in exasperation and turned away but Norrington continued to watch Elizabeth, trying to interpret the chaos of emotions flickering across her face, trying to understand, to know exactly what this meant to her, to them. He swallowed nervously at what he saw there, his mind working frantically.

Elizabeth was gazing after Will with a longing, lost expression, completely frozen in place.

The drums were rattling out their death song, the noose was being fixed around Sparrow's neck; if Turner was planning something, he had better hurry up. Norrington figured he should have foreseen this; he had underestimated the rashness of the man.

The drums were beating a salvo on his brain, people were shouting in annoyance as Turner shoved past them, fighting his way toward the gallows.

Elizabeth's eyes were wide, startled worry filling them, and Norrington started forward, his eyes never leaving Turner, assessing, deciding. "Marines."

People were yelling, the drums kept pounding through his desperate thoughts, and he heard noise behind him, heard Weatherby exclaim, "Elizabeth!"

He turned, alarmed and distracted, to find that she'd fainted again.

There was a sharp noise of steel; Turner had drawn his sword, the crowd was screaming, Norrington didn't know what to do.

He crouched beside Elizabeth, too concerned to give a damn what was going on behind him or what Turner was up, not knowing what to do for her, afraid. There was shouting by the gallows, the distressed cries of the crowd, then the drums cut off and there was the sharp sound of creaking wood and rope, but Norrington did not have time to wonder if this meant Sparrow was dead, for Elizabeth had sat up with a gasp, her wide eyes like one seeing a ghost.

He stared at her, relief mixing with confusion.

"What..." started Weatherby, but Norrington couldn't wait to hear the rest of his question. He jumped to his feet and whirled around, Elizabeth's safety no longer a concern, and ran down the steps, Marines pouring down off the battlements.

Sparrow had _not_ been hung, but was balancing precariously on something below his feet, while Turner in his stupid hat and cloak parried blows with the executioner over his head.

The crowd was milling about in a disarrayed mess, half scared and half excited, and he had to shove people out of the way to get through, the Marines behind him fighting past frightened women and yelling men, the bitter ring of metal on metal drawing them forward.

They finally reached the gallows as the noose-rope was cut, Sparrow disappeared through the trapdoor and the executioner came flying off of the platform toward them.

Norrington fell hard, cursing, tangled up with half a dozen Marines and a hysterically screaming woman. They finally sorted themselves out, bruised, undignified and grateful that no one had been accidentally bayoneted, to find that Turner and Sparrow had evidently eluded capture and were evoking a wild chase across the fort. Norrington followed the trail of battered, but chiefly unharmed, Marines at a run and finally found the two, cornered in a ring of pointed steel bayonets. Leveling his blade with Turner's throat, he eyed him coldly as more Marines came dashing up behind him, panting, guns at the ready. He had said it before, he would say it again. _Rash, Turner, too rash. There'll be no getting out of this one._

"I thought we might have to endure some manner of ill-conceived escape attempt... but not from you."

Sparrow had turned about and was hiding behind Turner's shoulder, his unarmed hands vaguely placating in front of his face.

"On our return to Port Royal, I granted you clemency," Weatherby Swann was saying from behind him. Norrington hadn't noticed him arrive. That probably meant Elizabeth was here as well. He adjusted the angle of the sword. That would not make this any easier. Bound back for the gallows, they were, the both of them, and he could not picture Elizabeth finding forgiveness for him in a hundred lifetimes.

"...and this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with him? He's a pirate!"

"And a good man!"

Sparrow, who had been quietly examining his own fingernails, looked up at this, and turned to the expressionless Marines around him, seeming to disregard the weapons pointed his way. He gestured to himself proudly, as if that would somehow pardon his crimes. The Marines looked disgusted.

"If all I have achieved here is that the hangman will earn two pairs of boots instead of one, so be it. At least my conscience will be clear."

Norrington wanted to scream at him, to hit him, but he could not deny the logic, the rightness of that statement. What Will Turner was doing by trying to free Jack was exactly as right at what he himself was doing in trying to hang him, just not as lawful. Just because Sparrow deserved to hang did not mean he should. But all Turner had accomplished here was another death, and just as surely as he could not deny the honor of Turner's decision, neither could he keep him from the noose.

The man was a pirate, had been rescued for Elizabeth's sake, had been pardoned for Elizabeth's sake, and yet he had chosen to force the burden of another death on Norrington's conscience and throw away whatever he might have had, all for a bedlam pirate.

"You forget your place, Turner," he snarled helplessly, stepping forward, full of rage at the impossibility of the situation, wondering if he should just murder him on the spot.

"It's right here," Will told him calmly, prepared for whatever would follow, "between you and Jack."

_Do you understand nothing!? I never wanted this, Turner, and I think you know that, but there's nothing I can do about that now!_

He heard her footsteps as she glided forward, pushing aside musket barrels as if they weren't even there, brushing past his shoulder, touching him one last time on the arm, to stand next to Turner, her face sorrowed and resolved.

And Norrington knew what she would say before she even opened her mouth, but he could not control the emotions that he knew were printed clearly on his face.

"As is mine."

"Elizabeth!" Weatherby exclaimed behind him. "Lower your weapons!"

This last was directed at the Marines, who did not move; Norrington himself was in a state of minor inclarity as he looked at the helpless, determined expression on her features. She could not let the Lady be the Tiger.

"For goodness sake, put them down!"

Norrington heard the muskets lifted around him, his own arm coming down slowly, his eyes never leaving the perfect crystal of Elizabeth's as she clutched Turner's arm.

"So, so this is where your heart truly lies, then?" he asked, unable to keep his voice steady, knowing the answer yet needing the answer to really set her free, needing to cast away the question he had asked her yesterday and every day before.

"It is."

And so it was. He was not surprised, not really, and yet...

Her mouth twisted in pain, in regret, not for her choice, but for his pain, for playing him false, yet somehow he could not hate her for that.

Norrington found no words to say; he faltered, blinking away the burn in his eyes, unable to look at her anymore. There was no pain that could match this, no wound that had left him as hollow as those two, damning little words.

'I am' to 'It is', two sets of minor, vicious words that had the power to make or break love, respectively. And to do exactly the opposite.

"Well!" exclaimed Sparrow, darting out from behind the other two and startling them all, "I'm actually feeling rather good about this!" He leaned into Weatherby's face, saying, "I think we've all arrived at a very special place, ay?"

The Governor leaned away, but Norrington could not seem to take his eyes off of Elizabeth, even though the love on her face as she looked at Turner and he at her tore him apart inside.

"Spiritually?" Sparrow added, waving his hands eccentrically, "Ecumenically. Grammatically." Weatherby sighed in disgust, and Sparrow sidestepped over toward Norrington, jolting him out of his dark mood.

"I want you to know," he declared in his odd way of drawing words out, practically leaning on Norrington's chest, his be-ringed fingers sailing within inches of his face, "that I was rooting for you, mate." Norrington stared at him in disbelief. Sparrow continued to jab at him with the index finger of his bandaged hand as he backed away. "Know that."

He sashayed around again, and paused to gaze at Will and Elizabeth who were too absorbed in staring into each other's eyes to notice much of what was going on. His eyebrows creased and a plaintive look appeared there, even as a spark of mischief danced in his eyes.

"Elizabeth."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, drawn out of her contemplations of love.

"It would never have worked between us, darling."

Elizabeth stared at him like he was a complete lunatic and Turner cocked his head curiously. Norrington grunted sourly. Sparrow was having a last laugh.

"I'm sorry." He truly looked it. He waltzed off again, leaving Elizabeth still staring in shock, and spun about as if he was preparing to go somewhere. "Will."

They all looked at him. He seemed about to say something terribly profound as the two pirates shared a look, but his lips merely twitched in a nervous smile and he shrugged.

"Nice hat."

And then he lunged up the steps to the battlement, Norrington and the Marines right behind him as a broad grin broke across Turner's face.

"Friends," Sparrow yelled, turning, then seeing several blades at his back, including Norrington's, scrambled the final few steps and spun grandly about, one hand on the grey stone beside him, the other steadying him from the perilous drop, his wary eyes flickering out over the sea of bayonets.

"This is the day," he leaned forward, his right hand extended in a strange gesture, "that you will _always_ remember," he took a step back, one hand still painting the air, a crafty grin glittering with gold, "as the day that-" His legs met the stone lip of the battlement and he toppled backward over the wall and out of sight.

They all rushed forward, Norrington cursing loudly in his head, and peered over the wall, as Sparrow landed with a terrific splash in the ocean far below.

"Idiot," Gillette commented with a mocking grin. "He has nowhere to go but back to the noose."

_Except for the fact that he's __Captain__ Jack Sparrow_, Norrington thought with a roll of his eyes.

No sooner this thought than a sentry on the wall above them cried, "Sail ho!" and Norrington watched as a ship easily identifiable as _The Black Pearl_ came sailing around the point. Below them in the water, Sparrow lit out for his ship with smooth easy strokes and Norrington did not know whether he should applaud or be furious.

"What's your plan of action?" When he did not immediately respond, Gillette glanced up at him. "Sir?"

Norrington hesitated, glancing out at the tall dark ship and back down at the stone below him. He did not think he could take any more misery this day. He was tired of pirates and indecision, he was tired of everyone looking to him. He wanted to go somewhere and scream himself hoarse, but Gillette was watching him, waiting, and the Governor was watching him, waiting and he really had no idea what to do.

He swallowed, thinking hard. Sparrow... did not need to hang today. And in some way, some small part of him was glad to see him bobbing out there in the water, no doubt grinning like a fool, bound for the helm of his sable queen.

He prided himself on being just and there was nothing just nor honorable in hanging Sparrow, any more than it was right to hang Turner. He had no desire to see another death today. The death of one soul was quite enough. Turner... had been nothing but honorably aimed since this whole affair started, and he did not deserve to hang for that, nor did he deserve Norrington's hate. But the law...

"Perhaps," ventured Weatherby from his right, "On the rare occasion pursuing the right course requires an act of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course?"

Norrington smiled weakly, a hollow, empty smile, at his old friend's words. Weatherby had always had a way of putting things into the right perspective, of seeing things just right.

He closed his eyes, calming now that a decision was reached, searching for the last scrap of control he knew was hidden somewhere inside him, knowing he would have to face Elizabeth one last time. His lips tightened sourly and he spoke in his coldest command tone to hide the break that was threatening in his voice, using the only restraint he knew. "Mr. Turner."

As he turned down off the wall, the Marines tightening in on their new quarry, he kept his eyes on the cold stone of the battlement pillars only, ignoring how close Elizabeth stood to him, the way she held Turner's arm.

"I will accept the consequences of my actions," he heard Turner mutter, as the man stepped away from her slender hands to face the sword at his neck, leaving her fragile and scared, silhouetted against the sky.

"This is a beautiful sword," Norrington said, refusing to look at Turner but speaking to the glimmering metal instead, examining it in the sunlight as though seeing it for the first time. "I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life." He finally moved his gaze to Turner's, who smiled faintly but seriously, his dark eyes knowing, thoughtful, understanding.

"Thank you."

Norrington turned and started to walk away, and the Marines, realizing that they had been as good as dismissed, hurried to get out of his way.

"Commodore!" Gillette's cry stopped him short and he turned around to find Andrew regarding him with a mixture of indignation and amazement. "What about Sparrow?"

_What about him?_ Norrington was past caring about any of this. He gazed at him indifferently for a moment, something akin to a smile trying to find footing on his face.

"Oh, I think we can afford to give him _one_ day's head start." He lifted his eyebrows at him in a supremely non-caring gesture and kept walking at a deliberately unhurried pace.

Gillette seemed to realize that he was telling him quite clearly, _Andrew, honestly, right now, I don't give a damn,_ and said nothing more.

Norrington's pace did not change nor did his expression as he walked, until quite suddenly, he broke into a run, scattering a group of surprised Marines, bolted into his office, shut the door and sank against it. So. It was done. He closed his eyes, leaning on his arm against the frame. Sparrow was free, Turner was free and Elizabeth...Elizabeth too was free. His eyes stung and he blinked in annoyance. It was done, unchangeable. But Sparrow being free? That was something he could change. He was looking forward to that, the kind of chase that madman was sure to lead them. Something good to do, an escape from the indecisions of his life. That was something he could do. And if he was lucky, the chase would last until after her wedding. Elizabeth's wedding.

He sank down against the wall, a ragged, gasping pain in his chest. It was done, there was no good feeling pain for it now, but unbidden, images of her beautiful eyes surfaced like dolphins in his head, the feel of her lips...

"Commodore?"

He ignored whoever was at the door.

"James, please."

Norrington stared at the door for a very long time, willing it to lock itself, before sighing and saying, "It's open."

It was Weatherby Swann, who did not seem at all surprised to find him sitting on the floor. He shut the door behind him and sat on a chair. For a long time, neither of them said anything. What was there to say?

"You _will_ be going after Sparrow, I imagine?"

Norrington did not look away from the grey stone of the wall. "Tomorrow." He barely recognized his own voice; it sounded flat, dead.

Weatherby apparently thought so too, because Norrington heard him get up and then some sort of rustling and clinking. He found he did not care enough to turn his head.

The governor came and crouched beside him, holding out a glass. Norrington took it and drank, barely noticing what it was. Weatherby sat back down in the chair, and Norrington watched him stopper a metal flask with no real interest. Governor Swann looked at him and Norrington raised his eyebrows.

"I thought...well...that it might be called for in some way," he finished in a slightly flustered rush, taking a swig.

Norrington smiled humorlessly and finished his glass.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. Or next week. Hell if I know." He thought about adding 'or care', but decided not to.

Weatherby seemed quite aware of what he had almost said and refilled his glass.

"Something to do."

"Yes." He was grateful that Weatherby did not say any of the supposedly comforting things people tend to say during situations like this, but which really only make it worse. There was nothing that could be said that would make this better and they both knew that.

He realized a bit late that the drink Governor Swann kept refilling his glass with was Rum and that wrung the ghost of a smile from his lips. He sighed.

"Yes, tomorrow. I have some general theories as to his heading..." He drained the glass and stood up. There was something to having a mission, a plan. He touched his chest lightly, absently, surprised by how much he physically hurt. He felt Weatherby's hand on his arm and smiled. There would be a lot of open water between him and Sparrow come sunrise.

He pulled open the door and gazed out at the hall, filled with sunshine, that not so long ago had been filled with the sounds of rain, with two people, in love, or so it seemed, kissing.

"James?"

He shook his head, remembering it like some far off dream, pain like the tremble of distant thunder in his chest. To feel so alive...

The Governor pushed the flask at him wordlessly, and he took another long swig, drawing away from those memories, shunting them into some dark corner of his head, because as much pain as they caused him, he could not lose them, would not want them gone, because they held, if only for the briefest of moments, the reciprocation of Elizabeth Swann.

He capped the flask and handed it back, saying softly, "Governor, once again, Mr. Turner seems to have deprived us of a pirate to hang, so I really do think we'll have to go and get it back." And somehow, despite everything, a smile worked its' way onto his features.

_~^///^~_

..._Gillette would be up with the final reports anytime now, they'd finished the cargo check, all hands were at stations, the ru-_ Norrington stopped dead in the middle of his mental rundown and the hallway. The door to his office was open. Why was that?

He proceeded forward cautiously and pushed the door open the rest of the way. There was no one inside, nor did anything look disturbed. He stepped inside and glanced around. Something had been set on top of the papers in the middle of his desk and he knew what it was even before he picked it up. It was his coat, the one he'd given to Elizabeth Swann what seemed an eternity ago. Could it have only been three days? It was rumpled, as though it had been stashed somewhere, and when he brought it to his face, if smelled overwhelmingly of Elizabeth, and not just perfume, but the sweet smell that was part of her skin, her hair, that floated off of her whenever she went by. He shivered as a wave of anguish swept over him.

He glanced down at the desk, still holding the coat, and realized that something had fallen out of the coat when he unfolded it. He scooped it up off the desk.

It was the flower he had snatched out of the sky for her that day, and written in curving script on one side of its' exotic petal were the words, _Because I'll never forget my first kiss nor wish it had been from any other._He stared at it for a very long time, not really seeing it, remembering, dreaming, letting the pain wash over him in staggering waves, unafraid of it, smiling even at how she'd made him laugh, until Gillette appeared in the doorway looking for him.

"Sir?"

He tucked the flower into the inside pocket of the coat, folded it deftly and tucked it under his arm. "Yes, Lieutenant, I'm coming."

He stepped out of the office, bound for the open sea, with a pirate to catch, and something heavy on his heart just a little bit lighter.

* * *

James Norrington had caught a bird, a beautiful bird, and held it in his hands for a moment, a shining, stunning moment. But who was he, really, to build a cage?

~^///^~


End file.
